Life on and off a small farm in Oregon

And we made it through another one! 2008’s down the pipe, and 2009’s been birthed.

And suddenly, we realize, it’s January.

Some of us are less than happy with the way it’s showing up here:

All this white stuff coming back makes it darned hard to find the mouse!

First we had snow, then we had rain by the barrel (3 inches in 24 hours, for Pete’s sake), and now we have snow again. Yellowcat is clearly not in favor of anything that covers her hunting ground and provides rodent hiding places. What she is in favor of is, when the temperature dips under the freeze mark by more than a little, we turn on the heat in the “roll-up,” our little storage and pantry room. A cat is a professional at finding comfort. She will sit so close to that heater you think she might ignite. If there is anything to approve of in winter, it’s that heater.

A funny thing happens shortly after we pass the Solstice. In the same way the Autumnal Equinox causes a human to cleave with urgency to woolwork and stitchery (if you don’t believe this, watch next year and see how many handworkers reach into sewing boxes and knitting bags that have lain idle through the summer; see how many of them require an infusion of patterns and materials at this time), as soon as the Winter Solstice is marked off the calendar on the wall, the gardener in us stirs, stretches its green limbs, and sighs with yearning.

But, mercy me, it’s January. Even the Gardengoyle is in hiding.

Here’s the thing: There is nothing you can do about it just now. That’s why the seed catalogs are going to start filling your mailbox next week. Those folks know exactly what’s going on under our wool hats, and they are kindly sending you the only treatment known for Northern Hemisphere January Disorder: pictures of gardens (with the suggestion you buy some seeds, quickly, while you’re still in Stage I)!

In our case, it’s worse than usual this year. Anything resembling a garden around here is either potted up and snugged under hay or piled in a grim boneyard of uprooted roses and fruit trees. It was the best we could do, and we’re hoping some of it will survive to be replanted once the construction spoils have been redistributed.

So: THERE IS A WHOLE GARDEN TO PLAN(T).

Here’s what I did with my long weekend.

Of course, I can’t possibly read them all in one sitting, but I can read in them all. It helps. A little.

Now I understand why I start sewing projects in the fall! (My vow this winter is to complete them before March.) As for garden catalogs, I think they are coming earlier than ever. I got several seed catalogs around the first of December, and expect a deluge next week.

Hi, Mary —

There is no escaping the tyranny of the calendar, in the garden or in the house!